The Ritual
by Steel
Summary: If only.... *Complete*
1. The Ritual

The usual applies; I own no one or nothing pertaining to this story.

Timeline: Six months after Chesapeake

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The Ritual

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It was Friday night and Clarice Starling had just gotten home from work. It was 6:30pm, time to begin her weekend ritual. She wasn't consciously aware that it had been going on this long, up until about a month ago, but that didn't change anything, it still made her feel better, to a point anyway. 

It started about two months after Chesapeake. Clarice would get home from work on a Friday, take a shower, order a pizza, fix a drink and sit down at her desk and begin to write. At first she just scribbled notes. Then she tried writing to people she knew, but that didn't cut it. Finally, she began writing a letter to Dr. Lecter. This calmed her nerves and relaxed her to the point that she usually fell asleep on the couch, in front of the fireplace.

Tonight was no different.

After finishing the pizza, Clarice took her drink over to the desk and started to write.

~~~~

Dear Dr. Lecter, or as I wish that I might be aloud to address you, Hannibal.

I realize that it is not you that is stopping me from calling you by your given name, but my own insecurities, my misplaced loyalties, for lack of a better word, my 'marriage' to the Bureau.

As I sit here, alone, in a dark house, I wonder what might have been, if only I had let my heart make the decision that night instead of my head. 

I could claim that is was because of the drugs or due to the trauma of seeing a part of Paul Krendler that I didn't believe existed, but that would be a lie and we both know it.

I have never been 'in love' so I can't say for sure, but you stir something inside of me, deep down inside, where nothing has ever moved before. This terrifies me in the most basic of ways, which is usually the case when I feel I am not in control. At that point, I did the only thing that I could, I shut down. I retreated to the safest place possible, I turned to my instincts, my professional haven, my husband, the Bureau. Not the healthiest of relationships by any means, but one in which I seem to have a difficult time in removing myself from. Not that I wouldn't if the right opportunity presented itself, but a good hiding place is hard to find.

You see, without the Bureau and the infinite excuses it provides, I would have to take a look at myself, a long hard look and answer questions that are better left unasked. 

As this is no surprise, most of this confusion is due to you and these strange feelings you've created inside me. I wish I had the courage to deal with them, but I do not.

So I continue on this path, not knowing where it will eventually lead. Will I someday have the strength to confront these feelings? I hope so, but for now I remain locked inside my own dungeon, pushing away all who might try and get close enough to unlock the cell door.

I say all, but I am well aware of the only person that has the key. 

And to think, it was you asking _me_ for the key, when you had it all along.

I wish things were different, or maybe in some masochistic way I don't, I still believe it never would have worked. Regardless, Hannibal Lecter, you have become a part of my life, for better or worse you are always there, like a bad habit and no matter what happens from now on, for the rest of my life, I wouldn't have it any other way.

Clarice

~~~~ 

Finishing the letter, Clarice grabbed her drink and sat down on the couch. She read the letter two or three more times before doing what she had done every Friday night for the last four months, she tossed the letter into the fireplace. Clarice stretched out on the couch, falling asleep as she watched the letter turn to ashes.

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	2. The Ritual Part II

Well, there wasn't going to be any more, so I had to turn to my roots.

You guessed it, prepare to be mooshed! (Sorry Kurt)

The usual applies; I own no one or nothing pertaining to this story.

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The Ritual Part II

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Dr. Hannibal Lecter sat in his car, patiently waiting for his own weekend ritual to begin.

His SPECIAL Agent had driven by, right on time. Not to long after that, the pizza guy had followed. It had been his experience, over the past few months, that anytime after 9:00pm usually worked out best.

Once, she had nearly caught him in the house, after a rather bold move on his part. She had been writing for over an hour and appeared to be so deep in thought he couldn't resist. As he silently crossed the floor toward the desk, he stood less than a foot from her, deeply inhaling her scent and catching a glimpse of the letter that had held her attention for the better part of the night. 

When he had seen that the letter was addressed to Hannibal and not to his title, he closed his eyes as the thought that his little Starling was indeed making progress, whether she knew it or not. 

That's when it happened. 

He felt her slightly shift her position in the chair and noticed a change in her breathing. His eyes snapped open, as he backed away as silently as he had approached, now watching her from the shadows of the kitchen as she cocked her head as if she was somehow aware of his presence. If anyone would be able to detect him, it would surely be Clarice Starling. 

He watched as she shook her head with a small laugh and said to herself, "Get a grip Starling."

At that, he smiled, as his question had been answered. 

Tonight, however, was not to be 'pleasure as usual', or so he thought.

He knew there was something wrong as soon as he entered through the back door. Clarice was not at her desk, or anywhere he could immediately determine. What he did find, was pizza all over the kitchen. It looked as if she had thrown the whole pizza, box and all, at the refrigerator.

Well, at least he knew what frame of mind she was in.

As he made his way through the house, he noticed the full-length mirror in the hallway had been shattered. He began to worry, just a bit, that Clarice might have finally fallen from the ledge that she was barely clinging to.

He proceeded through the house until he found his sleeping beauty, curled up in a little ball in the center of her bed, an empty bottle of Jack Daniel's next to the bed.

As he walked around the bed, he knelt on one knee, facing his desire. She was out cold, still in her work clothes. He reached his hand out to stroke her cheek, hesitating briefly as she stirred, but after a moment she was still once again. He ran his thumb over her cheekbone, then tracing the line of her jaw. Closing his eyes, he fought with himself for his lack of control where she was concerned.

Hearing his name brought him back to reality. As he opened his eyes, he saw that she was still asleep, but dreaming of him, no doubt. He stood then, with all intentions of leaving with what little control he had left, when she spoke again, "Hannibal please." 

So much for control.

He sat down on the bed next to her, lightly running his fingers through her hair as he whispered to her, "Shhhh, everything's alright, I'm here." His voice seemed to calm her, as she rolled toward him, throwing one arm around his waist. Why not, he thought as he leaned his head back up against the headboard, putting his arm around her. She moved only once more, bringing her head to rest on his chest, which caused his breath to stop. He was sure if there was a heaven, this was as close as he would ever get to it.

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In the morning when Clarice woke up, the first thing she was aware of was a tremendous throbbing in her head. She sat up and looked at her clock, 10:30am. 

"Well girl, that was one mean party you and your old buddy JD had last night."

Then she noticed the bottle of Tylenol and a glass of water next to the clock. Not stopping to think how they might have gotten there, she grabbed the bottle and popped a couple of the small white lifesavers into her mouth and drained the glass.

Setting the glass back down on the nightstand, her brain finally caught up with her as she stared at the glass, trying to remember when she might have put it there. When she looked to the nightstand on the other side of the bed, that's when she noticed the imprint on the bed.

Had someone else been here? She tried to remember getting into bed, but she was sure, drunk or not, she wouldn't have slept on that side of the bed. Stretching out on her stomach, she reached for the pillow, pulling it to her. It stuck her immediately, as soon as the pillow was close enough. The scent coming from the pillow was definitely not hers. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and that was all the conformation she needed. "Damn you!" she said as she threw the pillow against the wall.

Reaching for her gun, which was still under her own pillow, she set out to search the rest of the house. She made her way down the hall, not noticing the pieces of mirror had been removed, and then into the vacant livingroom. That's when another odor overcame her, coffee!

Turning her attention to the kitchen, she rounded the corner, leveling her gun at a fresh pot of coffee. Her coffee cup was on the counter with a single red rose lying across the top. She also noted the lack of pizza that had been decorating the kitchen when she had gone to bed.

Her anger having been broken by the smell of the coffee and the lack of a target, she set her gun down on the counter, picking up the rose and filling her cup.

Taking a sip, "Damn if you don't make a good cup of coffee Doctor." She said as she made her way to her desk. Sitting down, she saw another rose placed in the middle of her desk, underneath, a piece of her stationary folded in half. She picked up the paper and started to read:

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Dear Clarice,

Before I take my leave, I wanted to thank you for last evening. Even though you were not aware of my presence, at least not consciously, I had a wonderful time, nothing too ungentlemanly I assure you. I must admit that I didn't realize how much you like to cuddle, if I had only known Clarice.

Now back to you. Might I suggest trying a different pizza establishment, you seem to be rather disappointed with the one you are currently associated with. And jalapenos? Really Clarice, you should try a healthier diet.

I will assume that due to the placement of your dinner last evening, I am partially to blame.

What you must realize by now Clarice, is that you carry a similar amount of blame as well.

You repress your feelings to the point of rage. The bomb inside you is ticking Clarice. I can defuse the bomb and this is what causes your anger and frustration. You know it in your heart, but you refuse to except it. You are so close, Clarice, so very close. So what will it be Clarice?

Will you allow yourself to explode, to be ripped apart from within? Or will you choose to save yourself from this nightmare, from the loneliness, the endless nights of writing and calling to a ghost? The choice is yours, Clarice, as it has always been.

I remain as I am in your dreams,

Hannibal 

P.S. Should wish to contact me, I will receive any correspondence at

P.O. Box 302 Stateline, Nv. 89449

~~~~

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Didn't mean to leave it there, but as I said, there wasn't going to be anymore.

So hang in there, I'm almost done with the last chapter.


	3. The Ritual Part III

I would like to extend a great big thank you to Kurt for instructing me on the finer points of html. Kurt, you are definitely The Computer Guru! (I still owe you one more)

Once again the reviews are unbelievable, thanks to all you moosh lovers! 

The usual applies; I own no one or nothing pertaining to this story.

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The Ritual Part III

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Clarice knew already that she could not turn this letter into the Bureau. There would be too much to try and explain, like why it was written on _her_ stationary, and the cuddle thing, forget about it. So what was there left to do? Maybe if she wrote him back, she could lure him out and capture him. Was that what she really wanted? The thought raced through her mind, that was exactly what she wanted, HIM.

Once again, he had looked inside of her and found her deepest fear, or was it hope?

On one level, it terrified her to be so completely read and understood by another person.

On another level, it was quite liberating to not have to try and be something she wasn't.

Hannibal Lecter knew her, all of her, there was no hiding place in that corner.

All this thinking was giving her another headache. She decided to shower and take a walk, believing her head wasn't up for a jog. 

The day was cold and gloomy as she made her way to the park. It was quite deserted for a Saturday, the weather contributing to this she was sure. Sitting down on one of the benches, she began to let her mind wander. She tried to remember her dream from the night before, but it was gone, just like him.

She reached into her jacket pulling out her handcuffs. The same handcuffs that had joined them together six months ago. She caressed the smooth metal as the cuffs slid between her fingers. She wondered how the Doctor had handled the injury to his hand, her answer, with class of course. Like everything else, even the murder of Paul Krendler had been done with class. Did that make it right? In Dr. Lecter's mind it did. Krendler had sold out to Mason Verger, another waste of human flesh, so to speak. Clarice had long resolved Krendler's death in her mind. He had gotten no less than what he asked for. In the dark corners of her mind, she was beginning to see Dr. Lecter's point of view and the scary part was, it didn't seem to bother her. 

Then a voice broke her concentration and almost gave her a heartattack.

"Is this seat taken?"

She turned to see Hannibal Lecter standing next to the bench.

"No." Was all she could manage.

"You were expecting me I see." He said as he gestured to the handcuffs she still held in her hands.

"Not really, actually I was just thinking."

"And what, might I inquire has consumed you thoughts so completely on this fine afternoon?"

"Just things, nothing important."

"Now that, I find hard to believe Clarice. And what of the handcuffs? If it wasn't me you were expecting, am I to assume that you were waiting for another criminal to stroll by?"

That caused her to shoot him a nasty look that she couldn't hold as she started to laugh.

"You know you're crazy for coming out here, how do you know I won't try and take you in?"

"I don't Clarice, but it was time we talked, and if you choose to try and take me in, well….

that's just part of the risk I was willing to take."

"You sure put a lot of faith in a FBI has-been."

"Not a FBI has-been, only a woman named Clarice."

That caused her to look from him back to the handcuffs still in her hand.

"How's your hand?" She asked, not looking up.

"It's coming along. A very talented young lady, Erin I believe was her name, was kind enough to re-attach my thumb. It's still pretty stiff, but I manage. My piano playing has suffered, hopefully that will improve with time."

Looking back to him she said, "I never thought you would take it that far. I never understood why you didn't take mine."

"Yes you do Clarice."

Once again her gaze shifted to the cuffs. Several moments passed before she spoke again.

"You're right, I do understand. That's why I have to do this. Give me your hand Doctor."

Dr. Lecter looked into Clarice's eyes, trying to find a clue as to what she had in mind. He was unable to read her at this point. Perhaps she had finally made her decision, but it was quite disconcerting that he wasn't able to see it.

Once again came her request, "Doctor, your hand, if you please."

Slowly he raised his right hand and extended it to her, his eyes never leaving hers.

Clarice took his hand and placed one of the cuffs around his wrist, snapping it closed. She then placed the other cuff around her left wrist, securing it as she had his.

As they once were, they stood again, linked together by steel.

Dr. Lecter, still not sure about what to do about his latest confinement simply said,

"So, you've made your choice then?"

"I have." She replied as she held her cuffed hand out for his.

He took her hand in his, thinking she had actually pulled this off without him knowing exactly what she was planning. His eyes reflected his admiration for her, which he didn't try and hide. She deserved it, she was owed the satisfaction of winning a well-played game.

As she looked into his eyes, she realized what she was being given, acknowledgement from the only person she ever cared to receive it from. With that she smiled and said,

"Let's get outta here."

"And where are we going, if I might ask?"

"I thought I'd leave that to you. I've made enough decisions for one day."

Smiling, he squeezed her hand as they started to walk.

They walked to his vehicle without a word being spoken, neither daring to break the silence for fear that they would find it was only a dream.

Finally Dr. Lecter said, "Clarice I hesitate to ask, but I must." Turning to her he said,

"Where's the key?"

They both started to laugh, more out of a sense of relief than anything, feeling a little more secure that this _was_ actually happening.

"Well, you see it's like this…. I left the house in kind of a hurry and…well…"

"Clarice."

"I seem to have left my keys at home. I was hoping that after the last time, _you_ would have a key."

"Well then, I guess our situation will make driving a little more interesting. Whatever am I to do with my hand?" He said with a wink, as he opened the car door.

After getting into the car and climbing over the center console, she finally came to rest in the passenger seat and answered,

"I'm sure you will manage to think of something, you always do."

"Touché my dear." He said as he let his thoughts drift briefly to the handcuff key neatly tucked away into the back of his belt, where it remained for most of the day. 

As Clarice had so aptly put it, he had indeed, already managed to 'think of something.'

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Kurt, this is your second thank you, for creating a wonderful character in Erin, without whom the GD would have remained thumbless!


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